


you could be my ever after

by ohallows



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Cults, F/F, Kidnapping, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:08:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22103824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohallows/pseuds/ohallows
Summary: “Cleo! Cleo, can you hear me?” Bette says, and she might be a ghost but she’s felt more alive now than she has in months, adrenaline pumping through veins she no longer has. Cleo’s eyes don’t open completely, fluttering a bit as she shifts on the floor, and Bette falls to her knees next to her, pulling Cleo’s head into her lap. “That’s it, love, can you open your eyes for me?”Cleo does, finally, but the pupil is nearly overtaking the iris, eyes cloudy as she looks up at Bette. “Bette?” she whispers, a tone of reverence, and a shaky hand comes up and presses against Bette’s cheek. “I - I thought…” she trails off, as tears start sliding down her cheeks.Bette can’t cry anymore, but her soul - whatever is left of it - still cracks at that, and a wave of regret pulses over her. “Yes, sweetheart,” she whispers back, placing her own hand over Cleo’s. “It’s me. I’m here.”
Relationships: Betty | Bette/Cleo (Rusty Quill Gaming)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	you could be my ever after

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madnessiseverything](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madnessiseverything/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY LUNA I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!!
> 
> you wanted kidnapping and romance so i give u kidnapping and romance 
> 
> also idk if bette can do any of this stuff i just like the idea of her being a super powerful ghost. au where motw ended happy and they go off and have fun and kill monsters with their new child sam. also ‘corporeal when i want her to be’ rules are in place

“There was another murder-kidnapping,” Cleo announces as she walks into their motel room, dropping a newspaper down onto the table. “No leads, cops haven’t been able to find anyone or anything that could be causing it. It has to be the cult.”

Bette floats over to the table and, sure enough, it’s made front page news. “Three murdered, wife kidnapped,” she reads, frowning. It’s a gory story - the only photo on the page is of the crime scene afterwards, yellow tape surrounding dark stains on the carpet below. She tucks the newspaper under something else before Sam can come over. They’ve done their fair share of hunting before, but this is… they’re still a child, and Bette’s first instinct is to hide it away from them. There are just some things that they don’t need to see. 

“It’s just like the other one,” Sam says, frowning as their forehead scrunches up. “Is it the same people?” 

“I’m going to assume so,” Cleo says, fingers tapping anxiously at the arm of the chair she’s sat in. Bette knows why, even if Sam doesn’t, even if Cleo doesn’t know that she knows. Anytime they’re tracking something with cultists, Cleo gets… amped up. More reckless, with herself, while carefully keeping Sam and Bette out of harm’s way. Bette knows how she gets tunnel vision, intent on hunting down whoever called out the attack on their own home, when Bette had been murdered. But Cleo doesn’t know that, so she needs to be careful. Needs to make sure Cleo doesn’t figure it out, not before she’s ready to tell her - if she ever is. 

“We’ll need to do more research,” Cleo says, interrupting her thoughts as she stands up and stretches her shoulders. “It’s a bit late now, but we can get an early start tomorrow. Betty, what do you think?” 

“I think that’s a good idea. It’ll be dark soon, so any investigating will be hard anyway,” Bette says. 

“I think so too!” Sam pipes up, folding their arms as they ball up and toss the crisps bag into the trash. It misses, but Bette just points at the bag. It levitates for a moment and then deposits itself in the bin as she gives Sam a capital-L Look. 

“What did we say about throwing your trash?” she reminds them, one eyebrow raised, and Sam sighs. 

“Not to do it,” they grumble, and Bette nods. “Sorry, Betty.”

Bette smiles at him. “Just remember next time, alright?” 

Sam mumbles an affirmative, leaning across the bed to pick up the remote as they turn the TV on. It’s small and staticky, the audio clipping in and out as Sam flicks through the few available channels, before giving up with a loud sigh and turning it off. “There’s nothing good on,” they complain, and get off of the bed, slipping their shoes on.

“And just where are you going?” Cleo asks, raising an eyebrow, and Sam shrugs. 

“On a walk?” they ask, and Cleo gives Bette a look. It’s easy enough to convey ‘sure, let them go’ with a shrug, and Cleo sighs, a bit fond, a bit exasperated.

“You have to promise to be back before it’s dark,” she says, and Sam’s entire face lights up with a smile. 

“Promise!” they say, dashing out of the door, and Bette can’t help the small smile that pulls at her lips. 

“I’m going to get some rest,” Cleo says, pulling her own shoes off. She slips under the covers of one of the beds and lets out a yawn. Her eyes fall shut as she makes herself comfortable, and Bette turns the light off with a quick snap of her fingers. “Cheers. Can you make sure Sam makes it back?” 

Bette nods, before realizing Cleo wouldn't be able to see her in the dark even if she had had her eyes open. “Of course,” she says, a moment later, and Cleo lets out a content hum. “Sleep well.”

—

They spend the morning investigating. Bette and Cleo always split up, covering more ground, but the unspoken rule is that Sam comes with one of them. They can say that they’re eighteen as much as they want, no one really believes them.

This time, they come with Bette. Cleo is going to be posing as an investigator, and it wouldn’t be easy to explain Sam’s presence. Bette, on the other hand, takes Sam and they investigate some local places of interest. Following trails that the cops themselves wouldn’t have as much of an interest in. It’s a lot of wandering along forest paths and looking through abandoned buildings, and much less explaining why you brought a child along. 

They’re not as successful as Bette wanted them to be. Sam thinks they find a clue at one point, an old broken curse book lying in the river, but Bette thinks that that’s less from a cultist trying to sacrifice to their god and more a teenaged witch throwing a tantrum. In any case, she checks it for clues anyway, but it doesn’t lead anywhere helpful. The entire day feels like a bust, and there’s every chance that the cult could be striking tonight as well. Sam’s getting a bit moody as well; they usually do when there’s nothing helpful that they can find, and the drive back to the motel is silent. 

There’s a note waiting at the motel for them when they get back. The second Bette gets to the door she stumbles, as much as a ghost is able to, and Sam’s at their side immediately, looking at her worriedly as they reach a hand out to help her. It passes through her arm as she goes incorporeal for a moment, head spinning.

“Something’s wrong,” she gasps out, and pulls back from the door. “Don’t - Sam, don’t go inside.”

Sam actually listens for once, standing there confused and lost as Bette tries to pull herself together. “Betty? What’s wrong, what do you mean?” They’re getting increasingly panicked as Bette doesn’t respond, eyes flicking left and right as though they’re looking for someone who can help. Bette just holds up a hand and focuses, pushing the negative energy pulsing from their room away so that she can think for a moment.

“I’m alright, Sam,” she says, giving them what she hopes is a convincing smile - judging by Sam’s expression, she misses the mark - but she is feeling better, more contained, more herself. “Just. Do you have your gun in the car?” 

They shake their head, and their voice rises an octave as they glance away. “No, I didn’t - I’m sorry, Bette, I didn’t realize, I -“

“It’s okay, Sam, okay?” Bette says, leaning over and turning them to face her. They do, reluctantly. “None of this is your fault. We’ll figure out what happened.” She gives them an encouraging smile, as much as she’s able, and they frown but nod. “Okay. Let’s go inside. I -“ she takes a moment and lets herself feel, stretches through the motel room. It takes a lot out of her, with the energy running through the place, and she tries not to show it in front of Sam. “No one else is in there. Let’s just be careful.”

She leads the way in, opening the door slowly and waiting for a possible trap to go off. None do, and she opens the door all of the way, moving into the room. Everything here feels wrong, corrupted, a feeling with which she’s all too familiar. It’s the sign of the cult, a warning sent by its members, but nothing more. There’s no danger here, other than this sect of the cult knowing exactly where they are. 

“Where’s Cleo?” she asks, a rhetorical question, and there’s a crinkle of paper behind her. She turns around and Sam is stood at the table, face pale as shock spreads across it. “Sam, what’s wrong?” They don’t say anything, just holding the paper out to her, and Bette takes it from their shaking hands. It’s - it’s a ransom note, but less ransom, and more threat. “They have her,” she breathes. 

Sam is still standing there, frozen, and Bette forces herself to think. She doesn’t - Cleo doesn’t have time for her to have a breakdown, doesn’t have time for her to panic and lose herself. “Sam,” she says, snapping in front of their face. They seem to come back with it, blinking rapidly and focusing on her. “I need you to go fill me a bowl with some water. We’re going to find her, alright?”

They nod. “Okay. Okay, okay, I can do that, I - she’s gonna be okay, right, Betty?”

Bette squeezes them on the shoulder. “We’ll find her and she’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Just get me some water.”

“Okay.” They scramble away and Bette lays the note down on the table. She pulls her bag out from under the bed - there has to be something in here. She digs around for a moment, and finally feels the edges of a small piece of broken quartz at the bottom of the bag, pulling it out triumphantly. There aren’t any candles in the room, but Bette can work with that. It’s easy enough to conjure two flames into existence, hovering just to the side of the note. Sam comes back with the bowl, handing it over to her.

“Thanks, love,” she says, distracted as she places the bowl in the center of the table. The flames float around a bit, readjusting. “I need you to be completely silent, alright?” 

They nod, sitting down on the bed with their hands under their legs. Bette stares at the bowl, closing her eyes as she centers herself. When she opens them, they’re glowing gold, and she can see images swirling around the water below. It’s not a lot to go off of - an image of a silver dagger, Cleo being knocked unconscious and dragged away by hooded figures, a long hallway in what must be a basement… she pushes more, pushes harder, and more images come back, and she sees an old, dilapidated house, one that looks familiar to her. She gasps - it’s a house that she and Sam walked by today, writing it off as unimportant since it already looked as though it was falling down itself. 

She lets the magic go, flowing back into the pool, and rests her hands on the table to steady herself. 

“I know where they are,” Bette says, grim, and Sam pulls their shotgun from under the bed, grabbing a few more rounds to be safe. They nod, determined expression on their face. “Let’s go.”

—

Whoever took Cleo must be a smaller sect of the cult, sloppy and inexperienced, because they’re easy enough to find. Bette doesn’t think that there are any more members here than the ones guarding the small wooden house that the note led them too. They might not be leaving clues for the coppers to track, but even the method of murder wasn’t as neat as Bette has come to expect from this particular cult (and, honestly, she thinks she has the right to talk about it, considering that she was one of the murders). 

She tells Sam to stay behind anyway. Killing monsters is one thing; killing humans is another thing entirely, and she doesn’t want them to have to do that unless absolutely necessary. They grumble about it a bit and pout, but listen to her instructions as they crouch down in the brush, clutching their gun with white knuckles. 

The plan is simple enough: Bette will go in and take down the cultists, and find Cleo, and then Sam can come and help her get Cleo out of there. She makes Sam promise not to come in after her until at least ten minutes has passed, and they agree reluctantly. Ten minutes should be enough for Bette to at least handle all the cultists so Sam doesn’t have to. 

She leans forward and gives them an impulsive kiss on the forehead before vanishing, floating silently up to the house. 

It’s easy enough to snap the necks of the two cultists standing outside, holding silver-plated daggers that glimmer in the moonlight. They’re no match for her and the righteous fury that flows through her spectral form. She doesn’t even need to open the door, floating through the solid wood. It’s child’s play; they haven’t even got wards up around the place to stop her. 

The inside of the house is as sparsely populated as she’d expected. She closes her eyes for a moment and lets her essence pulse through the house, searching for evidence of others. There’s someone on the floor just above her, and three in the basement - one of whom is intimately familiar to her. Cleo. 

It won’t do to leave one of them alive, so she floats up through the floorboards before going to the basement. Sure enough, there’s a cultist standing at the window, looking out over the grounds below. Their arm is glowing with magic, and Bette realizes they’re a lookout. Too bad. They’re looking in the completely wrong direction. And she can do a magic glowing hand too.

She steps forward and presses her hand against their back. A magical pulse courses through their body and, to their credit, they don’t even scream as they drop to the floor, completely unconscious. It’ll keep them out for a few hours, at least. She falls back through the floorboards and lets herself go down another floor. It seems as though her initial impressions are correct - the cult seems incredibly amateur.

The basement itself is more like a long hallway than a room, dark and somber, but Bette doesn’t need light to recognize Cleo at the end of the room. She’s slumped on the floor behind metal bars, motionless. It’s easy enough to flick flames at the wooden torches on the wall, and the hallway illuminates as the cultists cry out in shock. Bette holds out her hands and they both start to choke slowly, hands scrabbling at the invisible force pressing against their windpipe. It doesn’t take long before they slump, and Bette lets their bodies fall to the ground. She floats past them quickly, reaching out to grab the metal of the lock and dissolving it in her grip. The bars swing open at a quick touch, and Bette dashes into the cell, hovering worriedly over her. 

“Cleo! Cleo, can you hear me?” Bette says, and she might be a ghost but she’s felt more alive now than she has in months, adrenaline pumping through veins she no longer has. Cleo’s eyes don’t open completely, fluttering a bit as she shifts on the floor, and Bette falls to her knees next to her, pulling Cleo’s head into her lap. “That’s it, love, can you open your eyes for me?” 

Cleo does, finally, but the pupil is nearly overtaking the iris, eyes cloudy as she looks up at Bette. “Bette?” she whispers, a tone of reverence, and a shaky hand comes up and presses against Bette’s cheek. “I - I thought…” she trails off, as tears start sliding down her cheeks. 

Bette can’t cry anymore, but her soul - whatever is left of it - still cracks at that, and a wave of regret pulses over her. “Yes, sweetheart,” she whispers back, placing her own hand over Cleo’s. “It’s me. I’m here.”

Cleo looks confused for a moment, and then her eye light up as she connects the dots. “Bette,” she whispers, and Bette leans down to press their foreheads together. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she says, choked up, and it might not be the best time for a confession of this scale, not when Cleo is nearly completely out of it, but, well. No time like the present, she supposes. Cleo is still staring up at her with stars in her eyes, and Bette isn’t even sure that she can hear any of this, so she quiets, letting the thought trail off as she strokes Cleo’s cheek. She pulls back a bit, and Cleo’s eyes flutter again, before slipping shut. She traces Cleo’s pulse with her finger, and it’s slow but steady as she lets out a sigh of relief.

She hears footsteps upstairs and lets her senses flow out again - she recognizes the presence as Sam, and sends a light along the hallway to get their attention. The light bobs up the stairs and out of sight as Bette continues to stroke Cleo’s cheek. A few moments later, Sam comes barrelling downstairs as they follow the light, keeping their gun down until they’re ready to shoot, just like Cleo taught them.

“Sam,” Bette calls them over and they squeak and come running, gun nearly falling from their hands as they dash over to the two of them. “I’m not going to be able to move her on my own, can you help?” 

They look a little worriedly at Cleo, hands fluttering a bit. “Is she okay?” they ask, and Bette’s reminded that, regardless of what they might say, they’re still a young teen who’s in way over their head here. Bette wants to protect them, but they need to get Cleo out first. 

“She’ll be fine,” she assures them, and maybe if she says it enough, Cleo will be. “I promise, Sam.”

Sam nods, biting their lip, and then their face hardens in determination as they help pull Cleo up, slipping one of her arms around their shoulder. “Let’s go,” they say, voice cracking a bit, and Bette steps to Cleo’s other side as she focuses on being corporeal, and together they help Cleo out of the run-down house, slow but steady. To their credit, Sam does a lot of the heavy lifting, and Bette’s proud to see how much they’ve grown over the past few months.

After they’re a safe distance away, Bette snaps her fingers, and the house lights up behind them, flames crackling at the windows as the wood catches like timber, becoming a raging inferno in no time. For anyone’s who’s been left there alive, well. They won’t be now. 

“Wicked,” Sam breathes, on the other side of Cleo, and Bette turns and gives them a quick wink as they finally make it back to the car. Cleo’s conscious but mostly out of it, and San helps as Bette gets her into the backseat, laying flat. Bette slides in after her, pillowing Cleo’s head on her lap, and Sam slips into the front seat, throwing the car into gear and speeding off, away from the house. Dust kicks into the air behind them as Bette slowly strokes Cleo’s cheek, using her magic to trace the poison running through her system. It’s a benign sleeping drug, nothing that will do permanent damage, and Bette lets out the breath she’s been holding. She’ll just have to sleep it off.

—

Cleo wakes up gradually once they’ve made it back to the hotel room. Whatever drug she’d been given must have finally run its way through her system - her hand twitches, where Bette is holding it, and Bette sits up as Cleo groans a bit.

“Move slowly, okay?” Bette says, rubbing at her arm. “Water?” she asks, and Cleo nods, eyes finally opening. Bette reaches over to the side table and pours her a glass, helping lift her head up and holding the glass for her so that she can drink. Cleo holds up a hand to ask her to stop and Bette puts the glass back on the table.

“Thank you,” she says, voice still a little bit hoarse as she settles into the pillows. 

“You had a nasty run-in with them, Cleo,” Bette says, trying to hide the worry in her voice. Cleo’s face scrunches up in confusion for a moment, and then her eyes widen.

“The - the cultists, did they -“ she starts, sitting up in a rush and then grabbing at her head. “Ow.”

Bette leans forward and pushes her back down; Cleo goes reluctantly. 

“We handled the cultists, don’t worry. They won’t be coming after us,” Bette soothes, rubbing soft circles on Cleo’s shoulder, something she always used to do back when Cleo would wake up from a nightmare. 

“Where’s Sam?” Cleo asks, glancing around the room. 

“They went to grab some snacks from the vending machine. I didn’t want to leave when you were still passed out, but they were getting restless,” Bette explains, and Cleo finally seems to relax, leaning back into the pillows. “They’re safe.”

“Thank god,” Cleo mutters, staring up at the ceiling. “I was worried that they got kidnapped too.” 

“No, that was just you,” Bette says, a little bit teasing, and a smile cracks across Cleo’s face. “We got back and found a note. Figured out where they were keeping you, and headed over. Sam waited outside while I handled everyone inside, and then they came in and helped me get you to the car.”

Cleo nods. “It’s - it’s coming back to me a little bit, now.”

“Do you…” Bette starts, letting the thought trail off. She really hadn’t thought that they’d ever be having this conversation, as unrealistic as that sounds. Her hands shake, and she feels cold all over. “Do you remember all of it?” 

Cleo doesn’t say anything for a moment, and with each second that passes Bette keeps shrinking in on herself, bracing herself for the inevitable rejection that’s coming. 

“You - you’re Bette,” Cleo says, and it isn’t a question this time. Bette drops her hand and sits back a bit, hands awkwardly hovering there for a moment before they drop to her lap. She nods, slowly, avoiding eye contact with Cleo. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Bette sighs. “I - I saw you, after you found my body. How angry you were. How much you wanted to kill monsters. I just… I wasn't sure that you’d be happy to see me?” 

Cleo stares at her for a moment and Bette shrinks again, pulling back into the chair. She - it still hurts, even knowing it was coming, and she should - she should go, should take a breather, because Cleo’s okay, but her heart is cracking in two and as much as she wants to be here, she doesn’t want to break in front of Cleo, and -

She goes to stand, and then there’s a hand on her wrist, wrapping around it, and she freezes in place. Cleo pulls her back and pulls her close, and wraps Bette in a tight hug. Bette can feel her shaking, and she can’t do anything to stop her own, can only wrap her arms around Cleo and hug her as tightly as possible. 

They pull back eventually, but Cleo doesn’t let her go far.

“I would never be upset to see you,” Cleo murmurs, reaching up to press her hand against the curve of Bette’s cheek. “I’m just sad you felt you had to hide.” 

Bette can’t cry. She’s a ghost. But, gods, if she doesn’t feel like she’s about to, and she leans down, pressing a kiss to Cleo’s forehead. “I’m so happy I don’t have to, anymore,” she whispers, and she can feel Cleo’s smile when she pulls her down into a proper kiss, and Bette’s never been so happy to be corporeal. Gods, it’s home and peace and love and everything Bette’s dreamed about since she found Cleo again, everything she thought she’d never get to have again. She loves Cleo so much, and Cleo loves her, and they’re going to be happy together, now.

“Oh, gross,” they hear from the door, and they break apart to see Sam standing at the motel door entrance, snacks dropped on the floor as their hands snap up, covering their eyes. “You’re like! Like both my moms! I don’t want to have to see it! It was bad enough when it was my dad! Gross!” 

Bette can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up in her throat, and then Cleo joins her. Sam stumbles over to their own bed, loudly yelling about how gross they are, and pulls the covers up over their heads as their voice becomes muffled. Bette and Cleo don’t stop laughing for minutes, and Bette stretches out on the bed next to her, letting her arm fall across Cleo’s waist as she uses Cleo’s shoulder as a pillow.

Everyone she cares about is safe in this motel room, and this sect of cultists are dealt with. They’ll head out tomorrow and chase something else, and Bette will be able to hold Cleo’s hand and kiss her without being terrified that it’s going to ruin anything. She smiles as she snuggles closer to Cleo, resting a hand over her heart. 

Yeah. Everything’s gonna be okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> this became less “they solve a kidnapping” and more “cleo gets kidnapped and then realizes betty = bette and they get emotional and then kiss”
> 
> hmu on tumblr at ohallows w prompts if y’all want! kudos and comments super appreciated


End file.
